


you know you love me, xoxo

by queenofthereach



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, EXO (Band), NCT (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band), SHINee, Super Junior, UNIQ (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthereach/pseuds/queenofthereach
Summary: with all the luxuries and splendours of life- everything is at your disposal, but it's lonely on the very top. your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Seoul's elite... and who am I? That's one secret I'll never tell. You know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl. random collections and blurbs into the lives of those who seem to have it all. or do they?
Kudos: 1





	you know you love me, xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> inspired off my gossip girl au photosets/aesthetic boards on twitter but actually in writing. set in random blurbs with no particular order unless i indicate if they are a continuation of a previous idea.

_Everyone wants to be friends with the prep school boys_

_The ones who sport Valentino and Ralph and Ross_

_The ones who eat caviar with smoked salmon every day_

_Do you know that all they do is cry in the backseat of their limos_

_You don’t know what you’re getting into_

_If you can’t tell the difference between Boss and Gucci_

_One’s for us, one’s for Florida rappers who die of overdose_

_One’s for when he takes you out for dinner to surprise you with pearls_

_One’s for when he’s bout to leave you for some girl he met on the street_

_You don’t know what you’re getting into_

  
  


_Everyone just waits to see them open up and cry_

_Because they’re so reserved / the ideal guy, right?_

_Because when he opens up you feel special_

_Because he’s closed himself from everybody else_

_You don’t know what you’re getting into_

  
  


_Here’s a hint—if he’s confessing in his limo and not the back of a taxi_

_If he’s confessing to a quiet glass of champagne instead of tea_

_If he’s confessing in his suit instead of his pajamas and disheveled hair_

_If he’s confessing to Mozart instead of the Offspring—he’s not confessing_

_You don’t know what you’re getting into_

  
  


_No one really likes smoked salmon; it tastes like the ocean_

_No one really likes mussels, they taste like stretchy fish sand_

_No one really likes Versace, the logo is just big enough to subtly brag about_

_No one really likes opening up, we just like pretending we can be trusted_

_You don’t know what you’re getting into_

  
  


_The lifestyle of the rich and famous is not a lifestyle at all_

_It is one where a prep school boy who hates his father_

_Grows to become his father / it starts with one drink of Scotch_

_And then suddenly he’s in the same suit, the same hair gel, the same watch_

_He doesn’t know what he’s gotten into_

  
  


…

  
  


Yibo just wants to run away from the mess he made. It starts from one shot of Hennessey, a cheap glass of vodka whose name can’t pronounce - and it’s downhill from here. 

  
  
  
  
  


He sits there, crawled over the high end bar his father’s friend owned. His perfectly gelled hair from the morning now clearly disheveled and out of place from the times he has run his fingers through his chestnut locks over and over again. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo watches the bleeding red wine in his glass spin around and around, in hopes of finding something stable and unmoving in his blurred vision.

  
  
  
  


His silent pleas for company are answered as Natasha Wong glides in with ease, the clicking sound of her pink, bedazzled Manolo Blahnik’s feeling weightless. She tugs on the lapel of her checkered Burberry trench coat, as the breeze from the cold autumn past midnight brushes against her and leaves chills down her spine. 

  
  
  


“Yibo--What are you doing here?” 

  
  
  
  


He swore under his breath that she had to see him in his condition, just like this. His custom made Tom Ford suit wrinkled and stained with gin from nights he can’t remember. 

  
  
  
  


Instead of scolding him, she approaches him and perches on the marble stool next to him. Her perfectly manicured nails scratch against his wine glass as she tugs it forcefully away from him. 

  
  
  
  
  


She looked beyond his cold and indifferent facade, as she examined the cracks of his vulnerability and want to love and be loved in his deep black eyes.

  
  
  
  


Natasha brushes off the loose whiffs of his dyed hair stuck to his forehead, ignoring the blood, sweat and tears scattered on his aristocratic features. 

  
  
  
  


“N-Natasha, why did you come back to me? You know- I only bring you misery and pain-” He slurs erratically, slamming his palm against the corner of the bar to prevent from falling on his face. 

  
  
  
  


Instead, Yibo sees the agony and torment on her dolled features, her chestnut-grey hued eyebrows scrunching up and her mouth quivering as tears filled her eyes, as she avoids eye contact by all means, yet she keeps her grip on him just as securely as she can. 

  
  
  


“Yibo, it’s not that simple-” 

  
  
  
  


“Then why did you leave me when we were in Europe when I thought things were going good for us!” He wails painfully, turning directly to her, yet it's too late when he realizes his harsh words have pierced her heart. 

  
  
  
  


He knows. He doesn’t want to admit it. He wants to hear it from her first. Yibo doesn’t want to walk around at those black tie galas and charity luncheons, hearing the trepidation of her arranged engagement to Xiao Zhan to link their two families through a business deal and marriage once and for all. 

  
  
  
  


Xiao Zhan was several years older than them, hailing from one of the oldest southeast noble families of China from several dynasties. Hailing from an aristocratic line of nobility from his father and related to a politically connected clan through his mother, he held no competition for Yibo’s mundane origins. 

  
  
  
  
  


He was artistic in nature and humorous, who spent his time doing humanitarian work quietly and leaving himself in solitude with nothing but a brush and canvas. Xiao Zhan rarely made appearances in high society, only to be prompted out from his studio and art galleries whenever his parents would drag him out and threaten to pull out any financial support towards his creations. 

  
  
  


Sometimes Yibo is tempted to give up and surrender his fight so Natasha could be with Xiao Zhan once and for all, to save her from the ridicule she does not deserve. But he does not. She is worth fighting for and he will not give up until the end. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo has no more patience creating the false illusion he’s ever felt satisfied in this gilded world of its complex etiquette that masked true intentions and trodding on diplomacy before getting stabbed in the back by the same person you called a friend. 

  
  
  
  
  


She was an esteemed member of the esteemed Wong clan As the only daughter and youngest child of Philip Wong, the luxury goods company group CEO and Eleanor (nee Sung) Wong, the heiress of a steel and real estate corporation, Natasha’s family has lived in their home for centuries, being the largest single piece of private real estate in Singapore with a palatial mansion of its own degree. She was from old money, from the established upper echelons of society of proper breeding and noble lineage. 

  
  
  
  
  


On the contrary, he was the very same nouveau riche she was indoctrinated to resent and avoid like the plague. His father was a country bumpkin turned insurance agent who met the right people and signed the right contracts to build his own real estate corporation now worth billions by the time his son was born. 

  
  
  
  


He barely remembers his mother, an insurance agent's daughter turned accountant who left his father before he even turned a year old. His father always told him to forget the selfish bitch who fled, before she died in a car accident on her way towards her flight off to Australia. Secretly, Yibo wishes she could have made him feel loved for once. 

  
  
  
  


“The arranged marriage isn’t official yet, Yibo. It’s all talk and nonsense, _at leas_ t for now. Even my brother, Yukhei, the proper heir, never had an official arrangement like this-” She wipes her tears off daintily, cautious her weeping won’t wipe off the makeup she has perfected. 

  
  
  
  


“You’re saying that just to comfort me-” 

  
  
  
  
  


“I’m not, Yibo. I wouldn’t do that to you - I’ve done many things wrong between us but lying isn’t one of them.” 

  
  
  
  


Natasha gives him a sympathetic look before grabbing his arm to slouch it over her shoulders, so she can drag him over towards his chauffeured limousine. She doesn’t even care about how roughly he’s staining all over her trench coat, or how close it is to her scratching her stilettos to get him outside the bar.

  
  
  


“Where are you taking me?”

  
  
  


“You’re staying over at my place until you sober up. I’m not letting you go home in this condition.”

  
  
  


Yibo finds himself in a condition where he’s unable to argue, because she’s right. She’s always right, at least in his eyes. It was as if only yesterday they had grown up together on the rolling, emerald hills at Le Rosey in Switzerland, with the sprawling beauty of the Alps mountain ranges by their fingertips. She was a few years younger, but trailed around those older and her brother's age, always a step ahead and impatient to get things done and develop. 

  
  
  
  


Except it’s way past midnight and too early in the day in metropolitan Shanghai, speeding taxis that splattered the heavy, pouring rain in its midst, and the scintillating, animated lights in the city that seemed to never sleep. 

  
  
  
  


Her Italian chauffeur flashes a sympathetic look at her as he opens the onyx black limousine’s rear door for her to gently seat him against the plush leather seats and struggles to lock in his seatbelt as Yibo wrestles to lock her in his embrace. 

  
  
  
  


She pulls away soon enough, before walking around with a pastel pink umbrella in hand and quickly getting into the seat in the limousine beside him. 

  
  
  
  


“Where to, ma’am?” Her chauffeur, Alessandro, with his greying streaks in his blond hair, concerningly asks her with his hands firmly on the wheel. 

  
  
  
  


“Home. We’re going home..”

  
  
  


…

He struggled to keep his eyes open as the flutters of light through the blinds felt painfully brazen, as if the pounding, repeated weight through his whole head and body was insufficient. 

  
  
  
  


As if on cue, Natasha releases her grip on the iron knob and opens the door swiftly before rushing her way towards him with growing concern and worry. 

  
  
  
  


Late in the afternoon, which he presumed was the time he awoke, she sat by his side on the memory foam mattress her father had imported for her personally from Europe, and one he had tailored for her after visits from her physiotherapists, personal trainers and chiropractors. 

  
  
  
  


Her mahogany brown hair was put in a half-updo, with loose strands of curled hair reaching her waist while the rest were pinned up in light braids crowning around her ears and cascading down the back of her head. 

  
  
  
  
  


Even in his hungover state, he could see how her eyeshadow had a faint blend of sangria, apricot and bronze, with a sliver of a golden streak that brought out her amber coloured irises. He noticed her bold, amber lip gloss on her full, heart shaped lips. 

  
  
  
  
  


In beige Ralph Lauren trousers fresh off the collection with Zendaya, whom has become a longtime confidant for years, a Blumarine ivory top made of lace with silk ribbons on her shoulders and beads of turquoise and blood orange, and a teal Stella McCartney velvet suit jacket - you could never find Natasha Young underdressed without appearing “tacky” or “trying too hard.” 

  
  
  
  


She just carried it so naturally that she made anything look phenomenal and stylish on her. It was one thing to be able to afford a constant flow of new designer clothing and acquiring access into archived collections throughout the decades, but it was another to look beyond labels and make them her own.

  
  
  
  
  


“I’m so glad you’re awake, Yibo. I wondered when you would wake up. “ She laced her delicate fingers with his rougher own, while her other palm brushed her knuckles against his damp forehead. 

  
  
  
  
  


He flinches as he yanked her cold hands away from him ,and suddenly an overwhelming guilt fills him. Yibo can’t find the strength to look at her face and see the damage he’s done. 

  
  
  
  
  


“I’ll be waiting for you downstairs so we can have brunch.” She quietly says, before shutting the door promptly. 

  
  
  


He nearly misses the wooden tray with a bouquet of sunflowers on a porcelain vase, glass of lukewarm water and his favourite snacks from his hometown of Luoyang. 

  
  
  


Yibo finds no surprise as he wears the Valentino suit she handpicked for him, in its crepe beige hue and matching pressed trousers that complemented his ivory silk Etro blouse and Gucci leather loafers. She knew his taste and picked these up for him, not worrying about how the couture house had his measurements on record for any future tailoring appointments. 

  
  
  


He strides down her sprawling pearl marble staircase and its gold crevices that hoisted up a meticulously detailed porcelain vase plentifully bestrewn with fresh peonies, chrysanthemums and lilies. 

  
  
  


Natasha waits patiently, sitting on the plush maroon leather loveseat by the ornate fireplace, her russet Jimmy Choos repeatedly tapping against the cream floor. She notices his presence from the corner of her eye, and she springs up towards him with a guileless beam.

  
  
  
  


She casually links her arms with his, leading him towards their ride. He feels like if she were any closer, she could hear his heart beat for her. 

  
  
  
  


…

  
  
  


They are seated in a private, obstructed V.I.P room on the top floor of the Crystal Tower in the heart of downtown. Wooden sliding doors with canvas panels gives them secrecy, as dozens of maître d'hôtels and the head chef treated them lavishly and attentively. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo watches her reflection against his metal knife, gripping its carved handle with his palm. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re not eating anything, Yibo.” She barely looks up from her meal, slicing her baked salmon with caramel dressing and gracefully chews on a piece from her fork. 

  
  
  
  


“I’m taking a break.” 

  
  
  


He knows how her tumultuous relationship with food had never been the healthiest over the years, especially as awkward, growing kids. She was an two inches shy of six feet, her long, slender legs matched her brother’s, with a naturally slim frame. 

  
  
  
  
  


By her teens, she found her refuge in a never ending pattern of binging and restricting her meals, living off the adrenaline of high society, social media comments and magazine prints commenting how thin she was and how it made the designer clothes she wore so much better on her. 

  
  
  
  


It ached him seeing her destroy herself from inside, and no matter how much coaxing and begging he did- he couldn’t save her when she couldn’t even save herself. Yibo still shivers at the sensation of her ribcage showing through her pale skin, as she rested in a hospital bed and its blue-green gown, as if she was about to fade away any moment. 

  
  
  


His heart pounds as he remembers barging into restrooms, holding back her hair as she purges and pukes out everything she’s eaten all day. He still remembers how pale she was, how much her hair broke out in its frail, thinness in his palms, and how her bones were poking through her skin. 

  
  


Years later, life had returned in her eyes as she got her much needed help in quiet retreats in Bali and Hawaii, with the adamant consultation of the best therapists, nutritionists and trainers in the world. Yet he’s still overly cautious if something will trigger for her to return to that again. 

  
  
  
  
  


She doesn’t miss a beat to make sure he wouldn’t end up the same way, to be consumed by one’s own misery and self destruction. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo ensures he visibly munches on the sauteed mussels on his plate, biting eagerly. His eyes met hers from across the scarlet satin table, and she pauses. 

  
  
  
  
  


A silent understanding unsaid occurs between them. Perhaps in the chaos and noise of everything, it is the comfort of reticence and camaraderie that brings them together. 

  
  
  
  


…

The weight of the world seems lifted off his shoulders as he wakes. The moonlight shines upon him, through his velvet curtains. A peak of light to put him at ease and feel less lonely, but not to wake Natasha who rests in complete dusk. 

  
  
  
  


As he clutches his blanket closer to his bare frame, Yibo turns around to face her slumbered profile, with her eyes fluttered closed and her constant, calm breaths sound like melodious music to his ears. 

  
  
  
  


Not a single trace of makeup was found on her sleeping face, as she basked in the afterglow from the hours they became one in body, mind and soul in a transcendental connection they only knew. 

  
  
  
  
  


He gently brushes away the loose strands of hair framing the sides of her forehead, admiring the warmth she gave him and her beauty taken candidly- away from the glamours the beauty industry made her cave in into. 

  
  
  


The way she trembled as he brushed his cold fingertips on her waist, as he hushed assurances to her with a gentle peck on her forehead, her nose, her cheeks and eventually her lips. 

  
  
  
  


She laughs as he discards the designer clothing off of her like they are worth nothing, as she eagerly tears away his suit off of him to feel him, skin to skin. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo breathes heavily as their lips touch, as they wrestled for dominance, almost languidly, impatient to feel each other. 

  
  
  
  


Natasha breathily whispers his name like a prayer, unholy words on her blessed tongue - he cannot feel anymore heavenly with the angel writhing, grasping at him in her desire, wanting only him, nothing but him to fulfill her. To understand and to heal her truly inside, beyond the frivolity and levity of the material, earthly world. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


His nose tickles against her collarbones, underneath her jawline and up her ear, as he presses his her, with her ankles locked around his waist - he groans, drowning in his desires while she arches toward him, chest to chest, panting and moaning his name. 

  
  


“I love you, I love you- I always have, I always will-” 

  
  
  
  


Their fingers interlaced as the pace intensifies, the golden bed frame thumping surreptitiously against the cream walls. The room inundated in sweat, longing, lust, amidst the exchange of their designer floral perfumes, as they became one. 

  
  
  


They tossed and turned for what resembled an eternity, as the afternoon fall turned to near sunrise, where they wasted no time resting, expressing their love wordlessly, omitting the proclaims and chants of love towards each other. 

  
  
  


Their breaths even out, staring up at the rococo oil pastel painted ceiling with the silk blankets idly pulled up chests, with their fingertips still caressing lightly. 

  
  
  
  


Through drooping eyelids and a fatigue smile, Natasha looks toward him fondly, before closing her eyes satisfied in the bliss, the paradise she never wanted to leave. 

  
  
  
  
  


As she was resting in sleep, Yibo, in his physical exhaustion, felt mentally active as thoughts, feelings and emotions flooded his psyche, and he did not want to rest and miss a single moment with her. 

  
  
  
  
  


His cushioned lips meet where her neck and shoulders intersect, lightly kissing her soft, supple skin as he admires, adores and exalts her for all that she is, inside and out. 

  
  
  


“Please don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it.” It comes out as a whisper, coaxing, a gentle plea. A call to not get hurt again and again until he cannot feel anything and everything. 

  
  
  
  


Her eyes slowly open, and he starts hushing gentle whispers in apology for rousing her awake, but she shakes her head and only gives him a smile only he has seen before her lips meet his. 

  
  
  
  


The moon rests and the sun takes it place by the time they leave his minimalist apartment, shyly intertwining their fingers together with flushed faces and restless grins. 

  
  
  
  
  


She sweetly pecks him on the lips before she leaves, and like a lovestruck fool, he presses his fingers on his lips to feel her kiss again and he cannot help but blush.

  
  
  


…

  
  
  


Natasha has not seen him for months on end, sans occasional “good morning/evening” texts she misses due to jet lag and changing time zones, until a sudden phone call right after a business meeting with his father’s associates. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You’ve heard right? Colin and Araminta are getting married!!” 

  
  


Her honeyed, euphonic voice is put on speakerphone by his clear glass desk, as his hands hover to turn the voice chat into a video call, but he hesitates and moves his fingers away. 

  
  
  
  


“Of course I have- the whole continent is talking about it.” He never paid much attention to the tabloids or media blasts about their high society, but there was no way to avoid this news. 

  
  
  


Yibo delves into the cluttered, unkempt pile that stuck out from his assiduously tidied and organized working desk, in order to find the ornate invitation that was mailed to his office. 

  
  
  


In his hands, he unleashed the golden ribbon of the immaculately adorned cream envelope that invited only the creme de la creme of the world’s high society into this once in a lifetime event. 

  
  
  
  
  


“I assume you’re coming- there’s no way you wouldn’t be attending anyway. Colin wants to see how you’ve been- and besides- you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.” 

  
  
  
  
  


He swears he can hear her smile from the other side of the phone call, and he chuckled in amusement of her teasing tone. 

  
  
  
  


“You know you’re the only person I can’t say no to, right?” 

  
  
  
  


…

  
  


_They say money can only last for three generations_

_Because everyone is so afraid of becoming their parents_

_Sure, it’s basically already gotten me into college and a job as a CEO_

_But it’s also almost gotten me killed / nights standing on the edge of a roof_

_Without me knowing what I’d gotten into_

  
  


_TV has romanticized so much of boys tearing themselves open_

_It’s not poetic, and just because he buys you that Bulgari necklace_

_It does not mean that he is healing / it means he is going back to where he came from_

_And I promise you it isn’t just prep school boys / it is the girls too_

_Because in the end we never know what we get ourselves into_

  
  


_Some nights all you can do is watch as the children cry_

_And you have to hide in a closet because it’s the only place you can be broken_

_Without having to be strong_

_Some nights you’re grateful and some nights you just want to end it all_

_But you can’t because didn’t know what you got yourself into_

  
  


_Summary? Just find someone who will listen to Kendrick Lamar with you_

_Or Enya, if that’s what you’re into / just make sure he’s not analyzing_

_The way his parents taught him to for socials and Ivies_

_Everyone wants to be friends with prep school boys_

_I promise they are not what you think you are getting into_

_—_ _because a dysfunctional gossip girl relationship is really not the one you want_

_l.j. / 26.12.17_

  
  
  


…

  
  


Yibo clears his throat as he stops pacing nervously and finally gathers up the courage to knock on her hotel room door. Tucking in his shaky, nervous palm in his dress pant pocket while grasping the clothed bouquet of peonies on his other, he feels like the same love-sick teenager he has always been for her. 

  
  


Seconds pass before she opens the door, Natasha’s unguarded smile greets him as she leaps into his arms. 

  
  


“I’m so glad you’re here! Also, for me?” 

  
  


He chuckles at her innocent, unprying wide eyes as she pouts curiously at him, pointly at the freshly plucked flowers in his arms. 

  
  
  


“Only for you, darling.” 

  
  
  


She takes it from him, brushing its hued petals under her nose, admiring its subtle yet sweet, enriching scent with her eyes closed. The flowers are placed in an antique porcelain vase her paternal grandmother gave her, and placed with her vintage beige Hermes bag on her dresser. 

  
  
  
  


Yibo can’t help but admire her focused features as she put on her ruby and sapphire encrusted silver earrings with ease, an heirloom gifted to her by her father for her birthday that was worth beyond millions, but it was her who shone like the stars in the night sky in his eyes. 

  
  
  
  


Natasha applies an extra layer of foundation and blush to withstand the summer heat, layering it off with generous sprays of heavily SPF-ed sunscreen before touching up on her mascara and bright rouge lipstick. 

  
  
  


A smile graces her face as she feels his arms firmly lock her waist in an embrace, resting his chin on her shoulders as their eyes meet in their mirrored reflections. 

  
  
  


“What are you looking at?”

  
  
  


“Obviously you- who else?” 

  
  
  


She reaches for the Chance Eau Tendre Eau De Parfum bottle sitting on her dresser, spraying on her wrists and elbows, avoiding spraying on her neck to hit him right in the face - they only share a smile before breaking out into laughter as he peppers kisses on her tanned skin. The whiff of its jasmine and rose essence strongly emits throughout the room. 

  
  


“What’s stopping you?” 

  
  
  


“I’m not getting any of this on your face, fool. “

  
  
  


He pulls her along with him as Yibo tackles her into the bed with him, responded by panicked yet playful squeals of help from her. Natasha pulls on his ears as she sits on his lap, complaining and bickering with him just like no time has passed.

  
  


“We’ll be late because of you! You’re keeping the plane waiting-”

  
  
  


“It’s my plane, remember. My family owns it, they’ll wait as long as I want them to-”

  
  
  


“This is the last time we’re flying private and we’re commercial next time- it’s environmentally b-”

  
  
  


Yibo quickly flips them over so she’s the one lying on the mattress, locking her wrists up by her head before pressing kisses underneath her earlobe and jaw. 

  
  


She squeals in surprise as she suddenly feels the mattress below her, giggling as she playfully resists his grip, only to surrender and willingly let him take control. Leaning into his touches, Natasha mewls into his ear and he automatically moans in response- he felt that he was in paradise now. 

  
  
  


“I love you, you know that, right?” 

  
  
  


“Of course I do, Yibo. How could I have not known?”

  
  
  


A frown appears on his face, as he observes the hesitation on her features, how guarded and unsure she appeared, as they were intertwined in the mattress. Suddenly, he has fallen from the graces of heaven and crashed unceremoniously with earth headfirst. 

  
  
  
  


As Natasha releases herself from her grip and sits up on the edge of the mattress, her back faces him and she refuses to look him in the eye. 

  
  
  
  


“D-Don’t you feel the same way-” Yibo croaks vulnerably, against his pride, his better judgement but he wanted to hear it. He had to. An assurance it was not all one sided. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Is it not obvious?” She responds nonchalantly, standing up and walking towards the mirror to fix the loose strands of her standing up on her scalp as if nothing happened. 

  
  
  


“Then why can’t you say it back then if it was so obvious?” He felt like a _fool_. A fool in love. Drowning in it as it consumed him completely through every fibre of his being. 

  
  
  


The silence is so loud that he can hear the very moment she pierced his heart with her lack of response. 

  
  
  


“It’s not that simple, Yibo - You said you wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to- You promised we would take it slow-” 

  
  
  
  


He barges out of her hotel room wordlessly, as he punches the oak door on his way out as his other hand hastily unlocks and swings the door open. 

  
  
  


Natasha feels the tears brim in her eyes, pressing her fingertips under her eyes to hold back the tears and not stain her makeup. 

  
  
  


“How could you worry about your makeup now when you’ve hurt him again, Natasha?!” She scolds herself, clenching her fists as she sobs unceremoniously. Lashing out like a wounded animal, years of programmed etiquette is out the window as she feels herself bleed, as her heart aches and longs for him. 

  
  
  


His heart was in her palms, in all his scars and wounds for her to see and nothing to hide- but he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

  
  
  


Her phone chimes and she grapples to check her notifications without missing a beat. It’s from him. No emotion or remorse in his tone as he notifies her his plane is still waiting for him. 

  
  


Torn between telling him to go ahead so she would not have to see him hurt in the fresh wounds she inflicted or facing her fears head on - she gets on the plane. 

  
  
  


Except the glass has been broken and they refuse to meet eye. They each sit on opposite ends of the private leather seated Boeing plane.

  
  
  
  


Halfway through the flight, she glimpses at him when she thinks he is way too interested into the sight in his window- she feels the weight on her heart and tears build up again noticing how her lipstick on his neck and his disheveled collar is still out of place. 

  
  
  


“I’ll take a nap-” She retorts coolly, as she rushes into the plane’s master bedroom with its cream hued king sized bed.

  
  
  


Natasha suppresses her sobs into the pillows, not caring how it stained the sheets or how she looked- as long as he couldn’t hear how it pained her to see his pain is her own doing. 

  
  
  


…  
unfinished work but i guess it can end here tbh - it touches a bit on the Crazy Rich Asians world just before Colin and Araminta's wedding like in the first book/movie haha. Originally my OC aka kinda character insert lmao was gonna be Nick's younger sis but nah I changed it to make her Lucas/Wong Yukhei's younger sis instead it just made sense. Also my GG AU on Twt just intertwined into this so hooray! i don't know where i'm going with this tbh, but my oc Natasha is this Serena Van Der Woodsen effortless it girl with a sprinkle of attracting yet also breaking every boy's heart she comes across, but she got Blair's ambition/drive and I hope that shows too. Her arc and her social circle is more with the NCT boys/BP girls so it'll make more sense the more I write.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
